


wasp meet honeypot

by Rupzydaisy



Series: the haruspices sing on [11]
Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: F/M, Marisa's not having any qualms about double crossing him, alternative universe, and he's secretly ecstatic about it, asriel is the honeypot, masriel, nope none at all, some slapstick violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:54:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23205808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rupzydaisy/pseuds/Rupzydaisy
Summary: Where Asriel and Marisa are given files on each other by the Magisterium and Oakley Street, and told that the other is their next target.a (really loose) mr and mrs smith au
Relationships: Lord Asriel/Marisa Coulter
Series: the haruspices sing on [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1609966
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is another one for the trope fill: undercover as lovers, but not the classic

Father MacPhail's hurried walk had Marisa struggling to keep up on the newly mopped floor but she refused to give him the satisfaction and willed her daemon to scamper faster. When he lets her into the briefing room, she makes sure he doesn't see her flex out her aching calf muscles, and instead keeps her eyes fixed on the wall where the projector throws up a large photogram of her next target. 

Her daemon comes to a halt beside her and in his own shock almost reaches out to clasp her ankle. She could almost feel his bony fingers press up against the thin fabric of her stockings. But having some semblance of control, she scraped her heel on the carpet and so he kept his hands to himself, worrying silently in the dimmed room. Swallowing down her own shock, she eyes MacPhail's back and counts to ten in her head, twice and a half over, until he turns and faces her again. 

With a bland, bored look on his face, he walks around to take a seat at the desk without bothering to offer her one. "Your information is in the pack, as always. If you need an extra detail on him for surveillance, let me know and I can arrange another shift."

"How did his name-" She begins, putting every ounce of effort into keeping a neutral, equally bland expression. 

Because in front of her was a larger than life photogram of her secret lover, and now _confirmed_ _heretic_ , Lord Asriel Belacqua. 

"Oh yes, we were initially surprised too! But with a little digging it was clear to see, he's heretical as they come, Mrs Coulter." Father MacPhail's voice was full of venom and the spittle flying from the corner of his mouth suggested it was coming from a personal disdain rather than professional. "He's been seeking further funds to research blasphemous theories in the North. Your mission is to find out exactly what." 

"Of course." She pauses and rifles quickly through the briefing pack, searching for her own answers. "You didn't answer my question though. How did his name come up?" 

"Loose lips around Oakley Street." And she wants to rip his smug smile off his face, but MacPhail ignores her death glare. "That too was a surprise, but we must capitalise on these gifts, just as the Authority wills it." 

"Yes." Marisa murmurs under her breath, sure that her quiet agreement would be taken as pious devotion rather than mere lip service. 

XXX

The tearoom is half-full after the late afternoon rush and although no one is sitting nearby, Asriel sits beside Dame Hannah Relf in the window seat furthest from the door so that they can speak without being overheard. While there is a mixture of scholars and locals in the occupied seats, their meeting is something more out of the ordinary, especially as Dame Hannah was a more familiar sight between St Sophia's lecture halls and library, while Asriel's shabby explorer appearance looked like he had took a wrong turning from his intended pub. 

"Oakley Street has been investigating the Magisterium for years, each and every one of their many offshoot offices. We've put word out, mixed in with rumours and other misinformation, and eventually a fish has bit."

While Dame Hannah Relf smiles graciously, Asriel cannot keep on biting his tongue. "Yes, that's all very clever, but why put _my_ name out? Haven't I done more as a hidden asset? My research?"

Her marmoset's eyes widen, much like Marisa's daemon's when he is taken by surprise, and he forces himself to ignore the little reminder niggling at the back of his mind. But then Hannah shakes her head, and after a moment her daemon blinks. It is one of the only things he can do in his state, and Asriel feels a surge of sympathy from Stelmaria wash over him.

"It was a matter of time, you've published enough work under pseudonyms and it's become obvious to anyone with a brain that you are one of us. And the Magisterium _are_ watching you. Two details in the past three weeks." 

Stelmaria growls, the sympathy gone, and the low sound is a forceful undertone to his own arguments, "They've not seen anything! They could suspect all they wanted to, but now this is as good as telling them. Bait!" 

His disdain for it all is clear, and he had no desire for mollycoddling on the matter. If she was going to hang him out to dry, in front of the Magisterium, while having clearly benefitted from his research over their heads long standing friendship, she could believe he wouldn't have such a hand in his own ruin. 

When Hannah sets down her teacup, her lips are pursed in a thin line, and she has little sympathy for his prickly demeanour. "On balance, I know it may sting a little. But by putting you out on the board, it offers us a chance to remove one of their biggest pieces."

She pauses to lean in closer so that no one else would hear. "This benefits us all, Asriel, and so I have to ask you again, do you remain committed to our cause and desire to help free hearts and minds?"

"You know I am." 

Stelmaria echoes his words with a proud rumble that turns a few other daemons' heads their way, but their little tete-a-tete doesn't draw any further attention. 

Hannah nods briskly, "Good, then you can take these details and an airship to London tomorrow. The Magisterium are still fishing, and will be sending their most fearsome piranha. Your mission is to get close to her and find out what the Consistorial Court of Discipline are planning next." 

"Good." He manages to repeat back after taking the file from her and flicking it open to the first page where a glossy picture of one Mrs Marisa Coulter smirked back at him. 

_Damn that infernal woman!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trope: BEING ON THE BRINK OF ADMITTING THEIR FEELINGS FOR EACH OTHER BUT THEN GETTING INTERRUPTED

Marisa checked her reflection in her hand mirror as her anbaric carriage inches closer to the main steps of the opera house. There was a queue of private visitors carriages lining the road, all invited to attend a performance by the full Vienna Orchestra, and she had been sent through her ticket by MacPhail along with a note confirming that Lord Asriel Belacqua would be attending as well. 

Beside her, her daemon pulls his tail through his hands repeatedly. 

"Stop it." She orders reapplying her lipstick for the second time. "I have a job to do."

When her car pulls up in line with the steps and her driver gets out to open her door, Marisa closes her lipstick with a soft click, and drops it into her satin purse beside the small revolver inside. 

XXX

Asriel turns up, just as she had been expecting. She could feel his eyes follow her across the room, and relishes in it, right up until the point he cuts into her conversation with an old school friend with his public-worthy, charming smile. "Mrs Coulter, it is a pleasure to see you here! I would love to pull you away and hear about your thoughts on Stonefield's latest book. Surely you laughed at his nonsensical theories?"

When Charlotte opens her mouth, looking ready to invite herself along, he's quick to add, "Dull stuff for present company except for those with an interest in theoretical physics. We wouldn't want to bore you tears, especially when Lady Fairmount seems to be sharing the latest gossip."

At that, the young woman squeezes Marisa's arm and with a quick nod, darts off towards the older woman bedecked in several diamond necklaces. Her peacock daemon is just as ostentatious and fans out his tail feathers so elegantly, all glossy blues and purples in a sea of emerald green, that Marisa wishes that he is hers, up until the point her monkey flashes his teeth as her and pointedly sticks his paw into her glass of Tokay. 

"I've heard that the view from the upper balcony is rather beautiful this time of evening."

"Have you now?" She leans closer and flutters her eyelashes, used to the game they always played when in public together. "I've heard it's better with a bottle of Tokay." 

Stelmaria purrs softly, and there's a flash of movement as her daemon drops to the ground beside her. His dark eyes meet hers, and he flicks his tail gently from side to side, in a silent, playful greeting. 

"Shall we find out?" Asriel asks while extending his arm and then they walk against the flow of guests heading into the main hall, and up the red carpeted stairs. 

XXX

They sit in the heavens, and Marisa's arms dangle over the balcony as she feels the draughty air waft past her. The view is good with golden reflections off the brass section throwing arcs of golden light onto the ceiling above them, and the company even better. She even giggles as the second bottle of Tokay is emptied out, small bubbles swirling around her mouth leaving a delicately sweet, dry taste on her tongue. While the orchestra finished their warmup and there's a few hard raps of the conductor's baton announcing the start of the intimate performance, Marisa considers there might be a more exclusive one up in the echelons soon. 

Asriel's hand slips as he tried to put the empty bottle down on the floor between the two of them. It leaves his hand, falling down where it would smash, only she reaches out easily and grabs the neck of the bottle, letting it swing between her fingers before placing it under her seat with a smug grin.

His blue eyes are wide, taken aback by the abruptness of it, and he has to shake his head to get back his train of thought. "You were saying?"

"Stonefield should be forced to eat his own book. Every copy, page by page." She quips, and it's not as light as she wanted it to be, but maybe it was the wine or the task at hand which was souring the edges of her mind.

But she quickly forgets all that as Asriel leans in closer. "I can think of better things to do than talk about Stonefield." 

"Like?" 

Her heel slides on the floor, kicking at her purse, and her toe hits against the weight of the small revolver inside. Marisa blinks in a daze, her mind swirling with the Tokay. Suddenly her tongue feels looser, and somehow she's transfixed by his very blue eyes, only to blurt out, "I have something to tell you."

They stare at each other for a long moment, but before she can say anything else, Asriel has leaned closer to drape an arm over her shoulder, pulling her towards him. He whispers a few words into the curls around her face, lips and stubble brushing against her skin. In the gangway beside them, their daemons are entwined with her monkey stroking Stelmaria's muzzle and Marisa can hear the snow leopard's throaty purring from her seat. 

A cold shiver tumbles down her spine and she snorts as his hand dips further down, and the spell is broken. Her thoughts snap back into place and the little wobble turns into nothing more than a smidgen of doubt she can quickly relegate to the far corners of her mind. "Oh, and deny me a lecture on whatever your newest research is about?"

"What?" Asriel asks hazily, nipping at the skin around her collarbone. "Now?"

"As if you want to entertain the thought that I'm only here for your looks?"

He shrugs, slipping his fingers over the thick straps of her navy silk dress, inching them downwards one at a time. "Maybe I don't mind as much as you think." 

Marisa moves quicker than he expected, tucking her feet up and then rolling across to straddle him. "Is it a big secret, your new study in the north?"

"If I say yes-" 

She works the secret out of him, with her lips and her hips and her fingernails raking through his hair until he is wordless and blabbing about emulsions and rare particles in the aurora, although just as she's biting at his lip off, he manages to break off with a shuddering moan.

With the violin section plucking at strings far below, he grasps her hips tight and speaks breathlessly while she pants into his mouth. "Wait, Marisa, I need to talk to you about something."

"Hmmm? In the morning," and continues where she left off. 

But in the morning, he was gone. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Umm so this was originally rated T, but then I got a third of the way into this and changed it to an M...because it's Asriel's time to shine as the honeypot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trope: doing that thing where they accidentally get real close and, like, stare meaningfully at each other for a few seconds too long (part 2)

Marisa kicks open the air vent in an empty corridor and climbs in, crawling two floors up until she's within the walls of Asriel's townhouse on the other side of Belgravia. It’s tedious work. She hates it, but hates the delay in getting information more. When the vent eventually levels out and she shuffles forward, each push of her legs sending her knees knocking into the metal sides. The work is laborious, but she makes it to a junction in the vent and decides to take a breather, wincing while stretching her arms out. 

Her daemon scampers ahead to peer through the grating. His claws clack on the metal, and then he beckons her forward silently. With a roll of her eyes, she shuffles forward again and looks down out of the small grate to watch Thorold walking back and forth from Asriel's study carrying large sealed containers. 

"I bet that's the proof I need.” 

It gives her a shiver that runs from the top of her head right down to her toes. The lure of being _right_ and being able to complete her job was tantalising. Her demon edges back towards her, eyes glinting in the dark as that heady feeling ripples back across their bond. In her silent revelry, Marisa reaches out a single finger and runs it down his back. “Asriel’s a fool, keeping his heretical notes here, under his own roof.” 

In the main corridor beneath, Thorold moves the last container into the study and then double locks the door from the hallway. After he goes into the kitchen and it falls quiet, Marisa grins smugly at her daemon and edges forward, eyeing the left turn in the vent and calculating that it would take her straight into Asriel’s study. 

She is ready to crawl forwards when the front door opens with a loud bang, and Asriel’s voice booms through the empty corridor below. 

“Thorold? Thorold! Where are you?” 

“Here, sir.” 

“Good. Take these, and add them to the supplies. There’s another delivery arriving in half an hour, make sure to check nothing is broken. I’ll be in my study.” 

She hears his heavy footsteps up the corridor, Stelmaria’s soft pads as she walks on behind him, and Thorold’s as he follows them both. “Did the meeting help?” 

“Perhaps.” Asriel answers pensively right under her. 

Thorold mumbles something back, low and quick, and she can hear the door to the study get unlocked. It makes Marisa want to slam her hands on the metal walls around her out of sheer frustration. _So close, she had been so close!_

“I need to look over the maps once more. Some new information has come to light about Grumman’s last location. Something about there being sightings in the aurora... I think this is it, the proof I've been searching for. I think this is Dust!” 

Asriel slams the door shut after him leaving his manservant to carry on packing. Above them, Marisa rests her forehead on the warming metal, hearing her ragged breath. The sting in knowing that she’ll have to come back to try again pricks sharp, and it doesn't fade away quick enough. 

XXX

Asriel is uninvited, and _still_ manages to arrive late to the party. 

It was a small affair, less than fifty guests, but an important one. Every care had been taken to present this evening as a delightful affair, and luckily the white roses had bloomed up and down the main path in time, mixing in with the other scents the gardeners had coaxed out of the late season. Marisa had chosen her white silk dress and shoes to match them on purpose. The outfit contrasted with her freshly curled dark hair which she had sat still for two whole hours that morning for, and the results paid off. It was a striking look that had caught the eye of everyone walking past her on Edward's arm and put a real smile back on her face. 

As the hostess, her main task for the evening is to flitter around the garden and speak a few words to each of her husband's guests. Some had chosen to sit inside the marquee and await the diner bell, while others stood outside with their drinks in hand and took the opportunity to enjoy the late afternoon sunshine. 

The white roses also matched Stelmaria's white fur. She winds her way between the clipped hedges, petals brushing against her sunset tinged fur. The daemon follows Asriel leisurely pacing the edges of the party, long after the first drinks have been served. It's with a little relief that Marisa feels her boredom flex and then suddenly shatter. Despite herself, she brushes a loose strand back behind her ear and watches him shake hands with some of the other guests, slowly making his way up towards the patio area. 

It’s the gleam in his eye that makes her tip her hand sideways to spill red wine all across the hem of her dress, and then follow him out of the garden and into the house. 

Because it's a look she knows all too well; he wants to do something _right_ under Edward's nose, and in all honesty she did too, having been bored out of her mind for hours hearing about ministry concerns and plans. 

Her daemon climbs up the banister, as quick as a ray of golden light swinging upwards. She watches him go, feeling the wine stain spread and the wet fabric stick to her thigh before she takes to the stairs herself. As she walks, her fists clench and unclench and there is a sinking feeling in her stomach. She's unaccustomed to experiencing guilt, yet it doesn't make her less unsure of how it'll be standing face to face with Asriel after sneaking into his house in order to turn over his secrets to the Magisterium. 

Now that she looks back on it, cramming herself into the vent seemed laced with a certain kind of desperateness. Like she'd taken the easy way out instead of doubling down in her efforts. Normally, she works far more efficiently when extracting information, having left trails of broken bones and split lips for Father MacPhail to sweep away. That was a reason why she was considered such a highly valuable asset, even if the sour-faced man was loath to admit it. 

Already the hubbub from the garden has fallen to the quiet inside the upper floors of the house leaving them in the quiet. Asriel pauses at the top of the staircase to look back at her and she hesitates only for a moment before brushing past him. Without a word, she leads him into a room halfway down the corridor that he's never visited before. 

Her daemon stalks forwards with his tail raised and darts straight into the room behind her. He was careful about keeping out of Stelmaria’s reach, just as she was keen to stay out of Asriel's reach for the moment. 

“Are you sure it’s wise?” Asriel asks as he follows Marisa into her husband's study, and it’s not really a question, not with that glint in his eye burning bright in a way that threatened to steal her breath. 

She shuts the door behind him and turns the key silently, dropping it onto the table while he carries on, “I mean, you’ll be missed, won’t you? I’m sure there’s colleagues and ministry wives downstairs eager to speak with you.” 

There is a mocking edge to his voice, and her reply is a perfunctory, “I’m sure there is.”

“You hardly ever speak about your work. How are things?” 

The question catches Marisa off guard, but she keeps up the pretence of ignoring him. Aside from the wall of bookshelves, the desk and chair, the room is rather bare, so she moves past him to the books and runs her finger across the spines. Her nail drops down to scrape along the wood until she reaches the end of the shelf in the corner of the room. 

Her daemon lets out a soft whine by her feet, and she gives him a small nod. He skitters forward, just as Stelmaria edges closer to her daemon, and he reaches out a black claw to touch her cheek. Then he leans closer to press his face to hers, whispering things that only daemons do. 

Behind her, the floorboards creak under Asriel's footsteps, but she pays him little attention as she continues to look on at the shelves, intent on gleaning any secrets in the wood grain before reaching for the windows. Then she shifts to slowly pull the shutters closed, reminding herself of her task. 

“I heard that you’ve bought some real estate in Svalbard.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t call it real estate.”

His nonchalant act was beginning to irk her, so she lets her lips twist up and forces herself to grin over her shoulder instead of smirk. “Then what would you call it?”

“It’s a lab.” Asriel sighs and tips his head back, moving across to follow her back behind the desk. 

Beside her, Asriel makes a show of appraising the collection as Marisa leans against her husband’s desk half-wondering if her gaze was burning a hole in his back, and half-wondering if it would work in leaching out the rest of his secrets. 

He reaches to pluck a book from above his head, “What’s this?” 

“ _Piety under the Authority’s Gaze.”_ She rolls her eyes, “It’s not as riveting as its shelf mates.” 

“Little prisoners, lined up row by row.” Asriel remarks, slotting it back with a soft thud. “Do you think they wish to be read, to be known? Or do you think the Authority’s words behave in a different fashion, simply with demands to be read, and no regard for the reader, despite there being a greater truth _._ ” 

The seriousness in his voice distracts her; it smacks of his heretical tendencies. When he turns around to face her, those words morph into a ringing in her ears, like an alarm bell, and Marisa finds herself caught between the desk and him. It wasn’t what she had planned, but she couldn’t pull away either. 

She didn’t mean for it to be like this; to have to look him in the eye while trying a softer kind of interrogation, so she remains silent. They’re caught in the moment, staring at each other, and it rankles at her every nerve. It goes on for too long, cracks developing in her own composure, and she thinks there’s hesitation in his eyes too, which seems bizarre as leading her upstairs was entirely his idea. 

But then Asriel’s hands come up to rest on her waist and he kicks out at the chair behind the desk. He pushes back slowly so that she ends up sitting on the desk. When his fingers drift downwards across her thighs and reach the wine-damp hem of her dress, Marisa slides further back on the desk, scattering pens and paper while fighting the rising smile off her lips. 

“Tell me a truth, Marissa.” He says as he leans in to press delicate kisses against her collarbones. 

“What?” She chokes out against the back of his head, feeling a flutter in her chest. The smell of wine and his cologne mixed together is nearly as intoxicating as his touch.

“A truth. Tell me something I’ve not heard of."

Asriel pauses, tipping his cheek against her shoulder so that he can reach a little lower, first pressing a hot kiss underneath the material covering her breastbone, then sucking harder until it leaves a red mark. Her low moan as he pulls away is echoed back by the contented purr of his snow leopard wrapped around her daemon on the rug behind the desk. 

Flustered, she reaches up and fists her hand into his hair, tugging lightly. He complies and returns to her lips, pushing her further across the desk while she drags him closer.

"A secret?"

"No, a truth, that only you know.” 

“I know?” Marisa repeats back breathlessly as she unbuckles his belt and quickly rids him off his final layers of clothing from the waist down. “I’ll not be pried open, like a clam.” 

“No?” 

It's not a question Asriel's looking for her to answer, not when his hands drag down her dress, tracing her curves. One hand grips onto her hip, burning an invisible brand there, while the other quickly slips up between her open thighs. When he brushes against her, and then sinks a finger into her, Marisa's heart stutters. His weight firmly holds her down against the desk while her hands scrabble against his shoulders in an effort to have him closer. There's a constant rattling of pens and crumpling paper under her as he adds another and another until she's panting and bucking under his chest. 

Marisa drowns in pure lust as he slides over her, damp fingers reaching up to brush her hair off her face and then drift across to her lips. She hates the pause, hates the waiting while nipping at his fingers and tasting herself on them. Outside from the garden, there's a sudden burble of laughter that rises up and fades; she imagines someone sharing a joke between canapes and drinks while she's there lying under her lover, somehow aching for him with every fibre of her body, and almost aching to tell him her secrets. 

He wants her _secrets_ , and she fears she might just tell him. 

Instead of waiting any longer or waiting to allow herself to do something she could live to regret, Marisa raises her legs. She wraps them tight around him and pulls him even closer over her as he finally presses deep into her. Her hands press against his shoulder blades and then curl. If he wasn't still wearing his shirt and dinner jacket, she would have drawn red lines right the way down his bare skin with her nails and relished the way he'd moan loud enough to confuse a few guests downstairs. 

The magpie glint in his eye returns as she moans out again. But she turns her face away towards his shoulder before biting down on his jacket to stop herself from being heard, unwilling to give him the satisfaction. 

“You seem unsure." Asriel quips, bracketing her hips tighter with his hands. There's a victorious smile on his lips, she knows, she can hear it in his voice. 

And although there's a dull flutter deep within her, she still has enough sense to ask back, " _Unsure_?" between rolling her hips and digging her heels into the small of his back.

With another heady kiss that steals her breath, he starts up again, picking up the pace where his fingers left off, "Do you think, you have no secrets?” 

“Someone’s always watching.” Marisa huffs out, turning to look at his blue eyes, and then bites the inside of her cheek. "I'm a married woman, what do you think?

He pulls her closer and closer with each thrust until her hips are nearly hanging off the edge of the desk and she's gasping with every breath. It's maddening because it's him, and it's only him who could ever get under her skin in this way. 

"You're my biggest secret." She finally confesses, in between more breathy moans, feeling like a rising firework about to explode. "Isn't that enough?" 

He rises up off her and Marisa sees the look in his eyes darken. Immediately she regrets her flippant words but it's too late, he's slowed down his movements and she's caught mid-flight, unable to fall or rise higher. Sweat pools between her breasts and her dress sticks to her back with each long thrust as he pulls himself out and then drives himself back into her. 

She feels an insanity unravelling between them, filling her up and attempting to claw its way up out her throat. It's something like torture. She knows it, he knows it, but she can't do anything more than arch her back, not when he's putting his weight forwards onto her hips, pinning her down until she's trembling. 

"Is that enough?" Asriel asks, cutting himself off with a moan of his own as he drags himself away from her again, almost pulling out. 

"More." She demands, and he stops but she doesn't, bucking as hard as she could to grind her hips down against him. 

He groans loudly and Marisa feels vindicated, but he fights her efforts and remains still. So, her hands give up trying to pull him closer and move down to where they fit together, determined to finish what he had started. But he’s quicker and grabs her wrists before she can touch herself, lunging forward to sink back into her in a way that makes her toes curl and her entire body shudder. He pins her hands above her, and slams his hips towards hers, again and again, just as she wants. 

Her thighs burn, her calves burn from holding him close so that he can't move so far away again, but there's a fiercer heat pooling in her centre that threatens to overwhelm her. The promising flutters finally turn to spasms and Marisa gives in easily to the sweet flood that sweeps over her with Asriel following. He slumps over her, lips pressed against her neck, and then mouth again as they finish together. 

When it's over and they've untangled themselves from each other, Marisa slides off the desk but finds her legs are still jelly. Instead of moving away, she just looks on at the mess they've made with a satisfied smirk.

"You said I'm your biggest secret." Asriel repeats her words back to her as he buckles his belt again. 

Taking his lead, she smooths her dress down, adjusting the neckline over the red mark he's left on her. "Yes, to my delight and dismay."

"Good to know." 

There's a funny sort of grin slapped across his face, but she doesn't think to question it. She lets him leave first, unlocking the door with a soft click and checking the corridor before watching him stride out, Stelmaria at his side in an instant. Marisa sits there on the desk until her breathing turns shallow enough to stand, batting away her daemon's paw as she half-heartedly puts her husband's desk back in order. Then she heads to her own bedroom to change out of her wine-soaked dress with her daemon trailing behind her feeling the same guilt.

But she had her answer, a lab in the north and his new experiments about Dust. She’d take that information back to Father MacPhail, along with details of whatever was in those locked boxes inside his townhouse. That would have to be enough to replace the guilt with something, enough to move on to her next job.

Marisa had barely opened her wardrobe when she heard the creak of her bedroom door closing, and for just a split second she thinks she's been caught, but then a familiar touch reaches out to swipe her hair away from the back of her neck, and familiar lips press close again. "I thought you went downstairs?"

"It crossed my mind, but I realised you might need help changing."

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees her daemon careen towards his snow leopard, but then Asriel walks her backwards, one hand slipping over her shoulder to push down her dress. Her attention returns back to Asriel as the thin fabric rips loudly, but then again it was already ruined so she doesn't really care. Then he retraces his hand upwards to twist his fingers into her hair while the other finishes off the job and tugs the rest of her dress downwards so that when she steps back again, she only has her heels and slip on. 

"We'll miss dinner." Marisa points out as she returns the favour, quickly unbuttoning his shirt and pushing off his jacket at the same time. 

"I'm not hungry for food." 

Asriel reaches for her again, and whatever cool evening breeze drifting in from her adjoining study vanishes in an instant as she falls backwards onto her chaise lounge. He tumbles to the floor after her, drifting higher while pressing a smattering of kisses up her thighs. When she eventually returns downstairs in a fresh purple dress, she and her daemon are alone, and the coffee is being poured out.


End file.
